


Tributes

by omniscientdino



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hunger Games AU, M/M, basically i do what i want with an established world as a backdrop, kind of, they probably wont die?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omniscientdino/pseuds/omniscientdino
Summary: It's the 75th Hunger Games and Grantaire is desperately trying to keep Enjolras alive. Too bad surviving the Arena is only the first step. A revolution is unfolding and this is just the beginning.





	Tributes

The first thing Grantaire noticed as he woke up was the position of the sun. It was mostly obscured by clouds but he could tell it was much too high in the sky for it to still be morning, meaning he had been asleep for much longer than anticipated. The second thing he noticed was the blonde man slowly bleeding out on the ground next to him. He blinked back sleep and tried to comprehend his surroundings. There was something very upsetting about the steadily growing pool of blood on the dirt floor, but he couldn’t for the life of him register why. Panic screamed at him in the foggy distance, but the haze of waking up from a drugged sleep was smothering it significantly.

In his dizziness he only truly registered the gold of Enjolras’ curls mixing with a red that tugged at his gut, dancing around a memory. Something about a child and a spear and a song. Something his brain would rather he not think about right now.

Slowly, he remembered the events of the night before. Fighting with Enjolras about the Feast and then being forced to choke down sickly sweet berries mixed with a sleep syrup. He remembered the clear conviction in Enjolras’ eyes as he watched him lose consciousness. Fucking sanctimonious bastard.

“R,” moaned the figure collapsed on the ground.

That was enough to jolt Grantaire back to his senses, the muffled panic now suddenly screaming in his good ear. Enjolras never called him R. Always Grantaire, with that voice of his. “Grantaire . . .” with a condescending tone, “Grantaire!” with a surprised smile. With a disappointed look, saying, “Grantaire you don’t believe in anything”.

If Enjolras was calling him by his nickname, something must be terribly wrong and _fuck him that’s a lot of blood_.

Adrenaline and fear seemed to be enough to spring Grantaire into action. He surged forward, ignoring the twist in his stomach and the stabbing in his leg as he moved as fast as he was able, settling on his knees as he pooled his strength into turning the other man over.

Enjolras’ face was drenched in blood and the little visible skin he could see was stark white. Ghostly. Porcelain.

Even with his heart ringing in his ears, some part of Grantaire couldn’t help but think what he always thought when he saw Enjolras.

_He looks like a work of art._

A work of art that would literally die right in front of him unless he moved right the fuck now.

He dove for the pack sitting close to the makeshift bed and dug through the contents frantically, looking for anything usable. He eventually came up with a bundle of bandages and a needle. More than he was expecting, to be honest. Just how resourceful had Enjolras been on his own? Had he swept these up at the Cornucopia, despite Eponine’s strict instructions to ignore the spoils? Or had he killed someone and stolen their supplies? Was he as brutal and bloody and violent as Grantaire had first suspected? His mind conjured up an image of Enjolras with an arrow pulled back and death in his eyes, more radiant than the sun itself. Even in his imagination he couldn’t look at him directly.

As he moved back to Enjolras to assess the severity of his headwound, Grantaire chastised himself. Enjolras was not a crazy Career, no matter how much his Capitol upbringing had influenced him, and he needed to stop perpetually being afraid of him. Especially now.

Grantaire moved as fast as his leg would allow him to and scooped up some water from the stream outside into an empty water skein. As he dumped it over Enjolras’ head, he noted with some relief that the bleeding seemed to be slowing down. The gash on his forehead had missed his eye by mere inches. He felt a weird satisfaction that Enjolras’ pretty blue eyes had been spared, and then immediate embarrassment that he even cared about something so trivial. If they both managed to get out of the arena, the Gamemakers would patch them up beautifully and Enjolras would look as perfectly statue-esque as ever.

After boiling the rest of the water in an attempt to sterilize the needle, Grantaire set himself to stitching the wound closed. His nimble fingers could not make up for the shaking of his entire body, but he did as best as he could. After closing the wound, he wrapped it in the white bandages he had found and shifted Enjolras’ body into the nook where he had been sleeping all day until now.

As he sat back, a different feeling began to emerge as the blind panic settled down. It was a simmering anger doused in a layer of fear and hysteria. He looked down at his fellow tribute, wanting to scream or tear his hair out in frustration, neither of which would help their odds of survival in the Arena. Odds that Enjolras had just risked his life to even out.

Enjolras’ recklessness was nothing new to Grantaire. If anything, it was his defining characteristic, and almost certainly the reason why he was stuck in the Games. At the time of the Reaping, Grantaire hadn’t known much about Enjolras; only that he and his family had shown up in District 12 four years ago. He had heard whispers, however. Rumor had it that the entire family had been sent to the districts as punishment for something Enjolras had done, though what a 14 year-old could have done to provoke the Capitol’s wrath was beyond Grantaire.

Half the district had expected Enjolras to have been sent off as a tribute three Games ago. Grantaire figured the Capitol had just bided their time until the Quell finally came around and then had sent Enjolras in for what was sure to be a bloody show. They had given him just enough time to cause significant unrest in both the District and Grantaire’s head, though. Enjolras showed quickly that he was not afraid to speak his mind, no matter how dangerous the ideas inside of it were. Grantaire had never heard someone openly oppose the Capitol before. At least, no one besides Eponine, and she only ever did it drunk. To be fair, Eponine was usually drunk, but she knew when to keep her mouth shut, a skill which Enjolras could only dream of mastering.

Thoughts of Eponine turned his eyes to the sky outside their cave. He wasn’t expecting a silver parachute from her. He hadn’t seen one since the Games began, as per their agreement. He just couldn’t help but notice how the gray sky outside matched the gray of her eyes exactly. He missed her. They had never spent this much time apart, not since she won her games six years ago. Even then, he could at least see her face on his television screen every night, no matter how much he had kept telling himself to look away. When she defied all the odds and came back, Grantaire had hung around her so much she joked he had become her pet cat. She pretended not to notice the way his hands shook when he hugged her and had dedicated herself to distracting him with that shitty humor of hers until they had finally stopped trembling. He missed her smile and her laugh. The way her eyebrows would furrow at him in frustration when he’d refuse to take the gifts and money she’d try to shovel on him.

A furrow that was probably present on her face this exact moment, watching him stare at the sky like a moron while the audience was almost certainly watching the scene with bated breath.

He was starting to slightly regret his genius decision to play at a romance. He remembered the way Eponine had stared at him like he had suddenly sprouted horns when he suggested it. Even Grantaire himself hadn’t been totally sure of it when he proposed the idea.

“How on earth would this help either one of you? Playing romance in the Games is essentially pointless. The entire audience knows only one of you can make it alive.” The pity in her voice had made Grantaire’s stomach squirm.

“That’s the point, though. Think about it, Ep. We all know I’m not the one going home here.” Noticing the glimmer of protest in her eye, he hurriedly pushed forward.

“If I’m, like, tragically in love with him, it will give the audience someone to indirectly root for. They’re all suckers for a good story. I could really play it up. Just go on and on about how I love him so much I could never kill him, blah blah blah. Pretend like my dying wish is to see him safe and happy, or whatever. Maybe I can even find a way to die protecting him! That’d really do it. You know how great of an actor I am. I-,” he had cut himself off seeing her eyes start to tear up.

“Sorry. I don’t always mean to be a dick,” he had said, quietly, after a moment. The amount of people Eponine had lost was no trivial matter. He kicked himself for being so emotionally constipated. She had sniffed once and looked up with her familiar fierce gaze.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Only one of us gets to live. He’s got the skills to survive. People like him. This kind of support could really give him an advantage. Plus, his survival would be an especially big fuck you to everyone in charge. I figure it’s probably better him than me.” Her frown deepened but he could see acceptance in her eyes.

“Don’t tell him. My session with him earlier today has me certain he’s a terrible actor.” Grantaire could have sworn he detected a hint of a smile in her voice. It was no secret that she wasn’t Enjolras’ biggest fan.

“So you really think it could work?”

“It’s definitely different and it seems to fall in line with what’s appealing to audiences lately. You’re much smarter than what you let people give you credit for.”

Grantaire had rolled his eyes. Eponine always pretended he was some extraordinary genius in a not-so-subtle way to boost his self-esteem.

Turns out, she had been right. After his dramatic proclamation of one-sided love at the interviews, attention shifted greatly to him and, more importantly, Enjolras. It had been good too, his little revelation. Turns out he had been paying far more attention to Enjolras than he had thought, and his confession sounded a little too genuine even for his own liking. He had even had Caesar captivated, never mind the audience. The pain on his face had seem genuine as he sent Grantaire back to a red-faced Enjolras’ side.

Grantaire looked down at the worryingly-silent form next to him. What he wouldn’t give to have Enjolras shouting at him now like he had that night. Although he could do without further injuries to his hands. They had only just healed, after all.

Speaking of injuries, Grantaire gave further inspection to his leg. The fact that he was able to ignore it for so long made him almost sure that it was no longer in grave condition. The throb of an injection site on his thigh confirmed his suspicions. Was this what Enjolras had so recklessly risked his life for? A way to prolong the inevitability of Grantaire’s near death? Anger surged in him again. Enjolras seemed hell-bent on fucking up every attempt Grantaire made to save him.

Despite the rule-change a few nights ago, Grantaire had a sneaking suspicion only one of them would truly be let out of this arena alive and he fully intended for it to be Enjolras. It hadn’t even been a choice, really. From the second they made eye-contact at the reaping, Grantaire had known Enjolras could win. Must win. There was something bigger at play. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but every part of him screamed with the burden of keeping Enjolras alive.

No matter what Eponine said, Grantaire knew he hadn’t been a contender in these Games. Even with his exceptional knife skills he could never measure up to the lifelong training and superhuman good looks of the Careers. Grantaire, with his overly-skinny body and plain face, had been out of the running from the beginning. Just as the system intended. The beautiful and strong always survived.

No system, however, could have possibly been ready for Enjolras. Grantaire remembered looking at all the tributes lined up during the interviews, himself included, and internally laughing at how dull they all looked compared to Enjolras. As if his gorgeous bone-structure and intense stare hadn’t been enough, Enjolras’ presence was magnetic. Both attractive and a repellant. The Capitol had been in an uproar from the first moment Enjolras had spoke on live tv.

It’s what had made the lie so convincing. Who wouldn’t help but feel passionately about Enjolras? With the intensity of the hatred and admiration flying about, who could question unrestrained love? It gave the audience a focal point for their own private obsessions. Grantaire had just volunteered himself as their self-insert, nevermind his own polarized feelings. His acting skills had never been more handy.

The funny thing was, he must have been very convincing because on that stage, under the spotlight, even Grantaire had fancied himself a tiny bit in love with Enjolras.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a daydream after I reread the Hunger Games series but it evolved into a vague outline of a plot so here we are. Some things will be the same as the books, others I'll change to keep consistent with the AU. Also I haven't written fic in a very long time so forgive my trope-y bullshittery. Or don't. This is really for my entertainment anyway.
> 
> Updates come when they come, sorry folks. 
> 
> I'm moonlighteponine on tumblr! Come say hi!


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